It is not that they haunt me, those buried by the Platte north of Denver,
I don’t know most of them, the sixty seven thousand.
I have heard of a few, read about fewer,
But I grieve their lush trees and lawns have been allowed to dry
and blow away…dush to dust…
And so it is
And so, I have retired.
I’m unsure what to do.
I’ll not miss mortgage banking,
with all its hullaballoo,
though I admit I’ve grown accustomed
to having too much to do.
Perhaps I’ll find my inner muse,
and finally write that novel,
This fickle spring weather is giving me fits.
Just when you think you need only a sweater, drizzle spits,
the air, only a moment ago, warm and bright
turns cold enough to make you pull your jacket tight.
The plants I held inside in windows all winter to keep them alive and sweet,
shiver, then wither when placed outside before
I went mad today
tired of the isolation
I’ve new plantation shutters.
They block out all the light.
Conducive to good sleeping,
when day turns into night.
But though it’s dark come morning,
and no light through yonder window breaks,
still I awaken early.
My body stretches and sleep forsakes.
Days start with exuberation
“Get up! Get up! Come greet the day!
” Time for great celebration!”
Woke to the radio news…did you know that we can sign up for a mobile app that alerts us when we are near someone with COVID – no personal info, just an alert – imagine the fear and terror as the alarm goes off and we search the masked faces around us, wondering whom to shun…
Walmart has removed guns and ammo from its shelves for fear of anarchy after the election – FREE elections should not lead to fear of riot and destruction- …
Joe Biden tells us it will be a dark winter, with people learning to die with COVID – uplifting, encouraging, faith in all that science he touts, eh?
Girl Scouts are admonished for applauding a woman filling a seat on the Supreme Court – that’s not political intimidation from the Left, is it.
WHAT HAS BECOME OF THE LAND OF THE FREE AND THE BRAVE? THE LAND WHERE WE BELIEVED ANYONE FROM ANYWHERE CAN RISE TO MEET THEIR DREAMS? THE LAND WHERE WE LIVE AS FULLY AS WE CAN UNTIL THE MOMENT WE DIE…NOT SHIVERING IN OUR BASEMENTS WAITING FOR WORD FROM THE GOVERNMENT AS TO WHEN WE CAN COME OUT, WHAT WE CAN EAT, WITH WHOM WE CAN ASSOCIATE?
SHAME ON OUR POLITICIANS AND THE SHOCK AND AWE MEDIA…SHAME ON ALL OF US WHO HAVE FORGOTTEN THAT THOSE BEFORE US PRESSED ON DESPITE THREATS AND POSSIBLE DESTRUCTION TO MAKE GOOD, AND GREAT, THINGS HAPPEN. REMEMBER WHENCE WE COME! LET US TAKE BACK OUR POWER, OUR PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY, OUR IMAGINATION, DARE I SAY, OUR SCIENCE, TO BEAT THIS WICKED FOE, JUST AS WE DID POLIO AND MEASLES AND EBOLA. REMEMBER WE MUST HIRE EXECUTIVES WHO FULFILL THE AMERICAN DREAM, NOT REMIND US OF HOW LITTLE WE CAN DO.
VOTE…THEN HOLD WHOEVER WINS ACCOUNTABLE TO BE THE SERVANT OF ALL OF US, NOT A POMPOUS ASS WATCHING FROM ON HIGH…
Emil Catt has died.
He was loved until the end.
Now I sleep alone.
It popped up unasked.
An article re: Findhorn.
A new house with a yard with the promise of a garden;
A front door, and a back door, and did I mention a yard?
I have been here a week just today.
I grew accustomed to living inside my condo with its balcony in the treetops.
I went down and up the stairs once a day for the mail, and a quick walk between buildings,
looking for sprouting lilies planted by the HOA, not by any of the residences –
we could not participate in unauthorized planting (as stated on my record – heh).
No matter, now I can plant with abandon – and I shall.
Daylillies, hundreds of them – or fifty 😉
Poppies – American Heritage – large, red, spreading
I just purchased five packets of seeds to sow before the last freeze,
or, as I like to say, any day now HA
along the driveway where they, whoever they were, parked their many cars
mashing the soil into a hard surface
soon to be raked and scraped and torn by my long handled claw of a tool.
And I tossed the dried peppers that fell from the ristra in the move into a corner near the fence.
They will grow, and I shall hang another ristra of my own making next September.
Much to do…and glad for it.
I am doing it today,
culling my books,
reducing my stacks and stacks
of unmet promises to read them all
and to save them from loss in some shredder.
Save the world one book at a time was my unspoken motto.
Damn the Nazis! You don’t burn books.
It is going well.
I’ve two large shopping bags full of familiar covers I never cracked.
Then there is the pile of gifts, all inscribed to me by I people I love.
Those are staying.
And the fairy tales, Celtic, Italian, Russian, Nordic Troll Tales;
those I’m keeping, but then again, will I ever read them again?
I’ve a sneaking suspicion that my idea to keep a stash of folk tales
and history books for my grandchildren to discover sometime in the future
when they’re packing up my stuff will not be quite the cool find they’re hoping for.
But they do know I am a book freak, so I am sure they’ll have an inkling that I’ve left them a message.
I cannot discard the dictionaries, hard cover and paperback; and that earmarked Roget’s Thesaurus? They don’t make them like that anymore. And that HUGE Rodale’s The Synonym Finder I bought after Renee Moffatt Thompson posted that she bought one…SO worth the buy. They don’t make men like J I Rodale anymore, either. Did you know he died while appearing on the Dick Cavett show? Literally died right there on the sofa. Yep.
Not letting these 1915 school geography books go…nor these two 1885 books of Mom’s advising good manners for wicked children.
The crumbling copy of Narcissus and Goldmund I bought in 1970 -Hesse caught the great angst of life, and the moment when Goldmund, who has charmed his way through life with his beautiful face, escaping the monastery, surviving the Black Plague, losing his beloved, attaining stature as an artist…that very moment when he looks into a mirror, and is shocked to see the face of an old man looking back at him…and he returns to the abbey to find Narcissus still high on himself. I’ve never forgotten that moment, and now, an old woman, have experienced that same shock in front of my own mirror.
All the other Hesse tomes, Siddhartha, Beneath the Wheel, The Glass Bead Game; all appealing to the pathos of my 18, 19, 20 year old mind and soul. I gave Wandering, along with small sketch book and travel sized charcoal pencils to a man I met online who was making a trek through Austria. I don’t know if he appreciated it, but I enjoyed the thought of him hiking from hostel to hostel, peak to peak, stopping to sketch the view and to comment on the topography, like Hesse as he started up the Alps lamenting that though he wished it were not true, he could never be like the farmer whose hut he captured in chalk. I should have kept that book, blast it.
Oh, I cannot discard Exodus by Leon Uris. The newspaper announcement of Ben Gurion’s death is folded in there. That stays. and this copy of The Elements of Style by Shrunk and White… gotta keep that…AND E B White’s This is New York…describing the moment that B-17 hit the Empire State Building, and he feared the war in Europe had arrived here.
SEE WHAT HAPPENS? I start with a firm purpose – to quickly clear my shelves, carry the sacks and boxes to the car, then drive faster than a rolling O to Good Will to leave them without looking back…
and I WILL…I will…
I just need to finish this one chapter, “Other Water Borders” in Mary Austin’s 1903 The Land of Little Rain…it just grabs me how she describes the murder of one rancher by another over water rights…”Jesus Montana…(contesting the right to the water from Tulle Creek with Amos Judson)…walked into five of Judson’s bullets and his eternal possessions on the same occasion.” Stark, absolute homicide without profanity or crass description, or pity. Imagine thinking like that to put it in writing…then reading it for the first time, gasping at the image.
I’ll keep this one on the shelf a while longer.
*** *** *** ***
Post Script: I AM loading up the car today with the few books I can bear to spare. I know, since the Universe detests a void, new books will soon fill the spaces…MWAHAHAAAA… oh, that reminds me, where IS that old copy of Tales of a Wayside Inn?